LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf -X.3..7 V 7 

UNITED STATES OF AIOIMCA. 



A POEM: 



OR, 



THE PRODIGAL SON, 



BY 



AUSTIN H. HIGGS, B. C. L. 



syi"^^ 



5J 



COLUMBIA, MO.: 

STATESMAN' I500K AXB JOK I'RIXT. 
189 1. 



I2^ i 



KNIKKEl) A<;tOKDIN(; 'lO 

ACT O F C O N G TJ E S 8 
IN THK yy.AR OF lsi)l, 



A. H. HIGG8. 



CONTENTS. 



I. Preface. 

II. The Prodigal. 

III. A Drunkard's Dream. 

IV. The Owl. 



■^M-^^^^^.^. ~:-^..,-^r ■: ■^-^■■.■^.- ,.,: -.r.,^,:.,.. ^ , .^- 



PREFACE. 



The student already knows much about the great poets and 
poems which they have written. This makes no effort at any 
masterly piece whatever; and no one is more familiar with its 
limited sphere than the author. But it is written to satisfy the 
desires of one who for many years, did much to school a lame 
boy whose only answer was when asked why so much care should 
be taken of such a one, and how she ever expected to get any 
compensation, would reply: "He must write me a book." 

She had a good memory for rhymes, and loved anything of a' 
poetical nature. So at last the little volume has come, and is 
placed in her hands at this late day; To her and my father who 
fostered me in childhood. 

Dear Reader, as you ponder this think of the many mothers 
who would rejoice over the usefulness of their children and be 
cheered in age by looking at just one gift from a distant 
child and be remembered by one in after years will cause your 
heart to swell with joy. 

Think too, of the kind words and actions of love that remain 
stamped on the memory of a grateful child you will still doubt- 
less say: "Mtj mother is all find all to me.'' 

Now with the desire that this book may find a lodging place, 
though humble it may be, in the many homes of those who may 
cherish such recollections, in fact, by the firesides of many who may 
read these pages. And before placing it into their hands I invoke 
the blessings of Him who is the dispenser of all gifts this is hum- 
bly set apart. 

And to my motiier who for years was the only friend to start 
me in life, I most affectionately dedicate this book. 

Austin II. Hiogs, 

Nov. 1891. Montgomery City, Mo. 



THE PRODIGAL. 



1. 

Eighteen hundred years or more, 

A prodigal starts his round to go, 

To travel in a distant land, 

To sail over the sea or ride o'er the land, 

This is time he says to go ! 

To see all the world has to show. 

Not thinking, what the end might be, 

Leaves a home, for across the sea. 



Without the advice of any attorney 

He starts out on his journey, 

"I've fix this time that I might see," 

" So give me what belongs to me ! " 

The father sees his son's intent 

To leave his home his mind is bent. 

Perhaps in words of tender love, 

He told him stories of above, 

And, if he only would be content 

For this I know to be the best; 

Contentment is the sweeter rest. 

But the answer came in words like these 

"Let me do just as I please, 

And all I now will ask of thee 

Give me what belongs to me ! 



THE PRODIGAL. 



11 



His brow is heavy his lip a shriving 
A son so anxious to waste his living-, 
Without other things here to relate 
He receives a part of the estate, 
And in a riotous way of living 
His money goes no interest bringing, 
His ship sails on without a rudder, 
Leaving behind a weeping mother. 

4. 

When at the place of destination. 
With plenty of friends and no relation. 
New friends now his fun begins 
He takes the evils sportman in, 
With bleared eyes I plainly see 
That I, a mighty man shall be. 
He ran along, things went well, 
His money lasted for a spell. 



With horses gay, carriages fine 
He thought 'twould last all the time 
And often had a rooling route 
The finest coachman taking him out. 
And sometime with abandon men 
They'd rool him in a horrid den; 
He never learned until too late. 
That they were taking him to his fate. 



12 



THE PRODIGAL. 



6. 

And when he first begins to see 

! where can all my money be ? 
A famine is cominj> ; so they say 
No home I have or place to stay; 
No place for me they all cry out 

1 thought they were men so smart 
But they were only playing shark. 



My wallet has now grown so small, 
That I have scarcely none at all, 
Oh ! hunger is a mighty thing, 
My garment sold and so my ring; 
If at home I would repent, 
But I find myself without a cent. 
Work I would, if I could find 
Though I'm now just in my prime. 



Days passed on without a sight 
Of home or place to get a bite 
His landlord to, stirs him about, 
He has now to hustle out. 
So to a farmer, he soon went 
To work of course was his intent. 
Here he says, I'm in my prime 
And I would like to feed the swine. 



THE PRODIGAL. 



13 



9. 

The farmer looked him up and down 
From his feet to his crown. 
In want ? I judge I from your face 
You can for now, take the place. 
With eager steps he starts out, 
To feed the swine he is about. 
So weak he seems I cannot run 
How long it seems for noon to come. 
10. 

And scarcely was he out of sight 
Before the pods began to bite, 
If I could only longer go 
But hunger is pinching so. 
So of the pods like swine did eai 
He seems to find a luscious treat, 
The food, almost seemed like swill 
But of this food he ate his fill. 

11. 

One night when lying in his bed 

An angel seemed to touch his head, 

Havn't you a home where ? 

There is bread a plenty, 

And some to spare ? 

And at these words they pierced him so 

He said I will arise and go. 

How can I dare to see father's face ! 

When I have so abused his grace. 



14 THE PBODIGAL, 



12. 



I will tell him how I have been 

And in short that I have sinned, 

And am not worthy to be thy sou, 

Please make me as an hired one. 

On next morn when coming out, 

His homeward journey he starts about 

When almost home his father spys 

I thought you were dead but still he survives. 

13. 

From every nook the harps were heard 

The news were spread around, 

And all the chorus that was sung 

The prodigal is found, 

Bring in the fatted calf! 

Servants you may kill, 

Let us all be merry now 

And the air with music till, 

And in the words that he sang, 

" My son I love you still." 



THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 

Old bottle, farewell, farewell 

I now awake at last 

And see what you intend to do. 

By reviewing of the past. 

Old bottle who so long has been 

My most pretended friend 

You oft have sent me out to beg 

And borrow from those who lend. 

Thou carest not what the people say 

But still go on your way, 

And forces me sometimes to borrow 

When I've not a cent to pay. 

The common folks used to say 
That peace and joy you'd bring, 
I am old and I am sure 
That I have tried you well. 
I shall try you, not as before — 
But to others I will tell 
How you brought me down so low, 
Almost led me into hell. 

Old bottle, farewell, farewell, 
I hope the story I can tell 
So men may shun thy ways. 
I trusted you in former days, 



16 THE drunkard's DREAM 



And even when a lad 

And all the recompense you gave 

You took that which I had. 

How cati I dare to call you friend 
When you have robbed me ? 
You've taken all that I have 
And are looking out for more. 
My health is gone and so my name, 
And what an awful shame 
You have taken all for you 
And left me not a name. 

You said if T was bound with grief 
That you would pleasure bring ; 
But you have taken all for him 
And left me not a thing. 
Who can dare to trust you now? 
Why don't you tell us how 
That you are the devil's brother, 
And instead of being here 
You ought to be together. 

History shows the blackest crimes 

That human ever knew 

You are sure tojpush them on 

But fails to lead them through. 

You say to all when bound in grief 

" Take me, I'll bring relief." 

No harm — there is in one drink. 



THE drunkard's DREAM. 17 



A little never hurts, 

And when you have them fast asleep 

You stand upon the lert. 

I once had health but now 'tis gone; 

And my money soon did follow, 

And when I lie upon my bed 

I sometimes scream and hollow. 

I used to hate a ragged coat, 

Now at my shoes the children shudder ; 

And often when I go to church 

I wear them of my brother. 

Old bottle farewell, farewell forever, 
I am glad this dream is o'er. 
For all the evil that begins 
You are the biggest sin. 
For you destroy the youngest boys 
And rob the oldest men. 
Take thee back, never ! no — 
Who said that I would take thee back? 
Who said I'd drink again ? 
'Tis false ! 'tis false ! I never shall again 
For I have changed my ways and look for 
better days. 



Niii'K.— These lines were suggested to ine by a very eminent man and lawyer, 
of Nortli Carolina, in 1877. I iiad the eare of his office and room, one niorninj; on 
.i;oin;j: in to make a fire before he was np, I fonnd him sittinj; upon tlie Ited in a lit 
of delirium, reiieatiiij; verses similar to the last verses of this poem. 



THE OWL. 



There are thing8 that we sometimes do, 

That follow lis in the day and evening, too ; 

When this truth came to me, 

The impression made I think will stay — 

Let me tell it if I may. 

So that the truth may have its sway. 

It was in the town of Grinnell 

So now the story I will tell. 

2. 

In the cold, cold December 

I always think I shall remember, 

Not because the story I fancy — 

But the cause was Mollie and Nancy. 

And the time was .evening, too, 

When all the work for the day is through, 

And the church bells were ringing so. 

They said to church we will go. 

3. 

The weather being severe, cold. 
If you will stay at home, and read 
It will be the better far, indeed, 
As I am now feeling ill. 



THE OWL. 19 



I had rather be left still. 

But the bells seemed to charm them so 

They said to meeting they must go. 

4. 

They said, too, should I stay — 

A ghost should come in my way, 

They farther said with ( ahem ) 

I would I wish went with them. 

Those words were spoken though in fun, 

And they started in a run. 

I sitting almost like an elf, 

Had all the fire to myself. 

5. 

The wind, it blew very bold; 

All I feared it was the cold. 

The thermometer was away below, 

The coldest point ( " zero " ). 

And scarcely had the parson started. 

When my window curtain parted, 

And a bird came right in — 

Struck me just below the chin. 



6. 



I will call it here a fowl, 
But it is known as the owl. 
Why can all your anger be, 



20 THE OWLi 



That you come in after me ? 

Hi8 eyes were dazzled with the light 

And I, astonished at the sight ! 

Kill him ! as the thought came tlrst 

But soon I thought of something worse. 



7. 



I am not Poe, you must know — 
I have no wife that's gone before — 
But this mean and vicious bird 
Began to screech until I was heard, 
The people from their homes came out 
To see what this noise was about. 
I was angry, and full of shame 
To be so beaten, at my game. 



8. 



This bird must suffer or repent, 

So in the hot oven he soon went, 

The fire was hot, and the oven too, 

His feathers began to smell his feet to stew. 

As he was jumping and fluttering about 

The door came open and he walked out 

With all my might I tried to hit him. 

Though he rolled up his eyes 

Like he thought I would pity him. 



THE OWL. 21 



9. 



Then I thought some one was coming- 

A song I heard some one humming, 

The girl it was ; I thought I wouldn't tell her 

So I snatched up the broom 

And swept him down the cellar. 

I thought they would speak about the weather 

But they talked of a burning feather. 

10. 

I closd the window at the toj) 

Thinking how my ghost did flop. 

When I put him in the stove ' 

I hated to prove to them so cruel : 

Or ever let the story slip 

So I went into the cellar 

Seized my bird by the throat 

And I thought his neck I broke. 

11. 

Then I took him in my room 

Threw him in a box for dead, 

Which I covered with a lid 

After this I went to bed. 

His punishment was quite rude 

But he had no right on me to intrude. 

I tried to think with conscience clear, 

I had no cause for naught to fear. 



22 THE OWL 



12. 



But as I. lay upon my bed 

Soineting still I seem to dread. 

My passions grow worse than sliame, 

I wiobed I'd cast Mm in the flame. 

For all this grief and that howl 

Was caused by that wretched owl, 

But though you lie in the box dead 

The way I killed you, I seemed to dread. 

13. 

Late in the night, just at three 
Something began to peck at me, 
Kising up in a frightful mood, 
I saw the bird wanted food. 
I^ow feeling sorry for my cruel act 
To the cellar I will take you back. 
He stayed in my room until full day 
Then at meat he had fair play. 

14. 

My bird it seemed in full light, 

Of all things had the greatest fright. 

His feathers scorched and twisted about 

And two of his toes wrong side out ; 

But at this his love for me 

Was quite a marvel for to see 

He would eat from my hand. 

But for others would not stand. 



THE OWL. 23 



15. 



I felt for this I must repent, 

So very soon the story went. 

So the story and the sight 

Made them cry, from morn till night, 

I told the girls they were at fault 

For having sent the ghost in there 

But they say in these words, 

" Ghost cannot turn to birds." 

16. 

And the only thing for me to do 
Feed him well and let him go. 
This I've done. I am sure 
Of all the crimes I ever did 
To man or beast, brute or fowl, 
To think of this I feel worse. 
What I did to that innocent owl. 
The story of my owl is told 
In his manner he was bold 
He is now fat and well 
But how he got out of the box 
That's the part I'll never tell. 



